Saturday, March 04, 2006

I've been milling about the house today, doing various odds and ends, making a pot of my not-so-world famous chili, putting eye drops into an infected with pink eye daughter's eye, threatening to take away her Black Eyed Peas concert tickets and my son's Ministry concert tickets if they didn't get along and get their nuclear mess of a room cleaned, and doing laundry, all the while pondering the thought of ditching this blog and transferring everything within in it's confines into a more personal setting, i.e.: my new notebook, or at least, into a new and improved, undisclosed blog where I would become one of the many faithful blogging faceless.

I don't know.

I... just... don't... know.

I know I need to keep writing because it has helped me immensely in releasing the daily pressures of my life. As well, it allows me the privilege of speaking my mind without the slightest concern for recourse. In short, it has become a virtual best friend of sorts in that the computer listens but never speaks.

So I find myself asking myself the elusive question: What do I do?

I have no fucking idea.

I really don't.

Will my disappearance solve my problems? Maybe. Probably not. Will I find some unknown happiness in return to my self-abusive roots? Definitely not, but it sounds like it might be worth a try. Will I be satisfied with where I am internally versus where I could be? I wish I had the answer to that. I really do.

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About Me

You know me. I am the cool, the nerd, the jock, the loner, the fatty, the anorexic, the "You're nice, but... let's just be friends," guy. I am the cute, the ugly, the attractive, the average, the intelligent, the stupid, and the sexy one who stands silent against an otherwise vacant wall in life. I am the serious sort, despite my rampant and often over-indulgent jocular side. I am the happy friend, quick witted, with all of the trappings of being unhappy. I am the one holding up progress in the suicide line. I am the one who unjustly possesses the golden ticket of life. I am the fearful one who guides you through your fears, but is too afraid to face my own. I am the born-again bastard with two fathers. I am the adult who never learned how to be a child, and the child who desperately searches for a modicum of adulthood. I am the poster boy for mental health, the cover model for G.Q. I am the centerfold for Playgirl and the homeless man you step over in the gutter. I am you. I am them. I am her. I am him. I am me. I am me. I am...